Summer
by DreamxXxStealer
Summary: Prompt fic for MidnightSchemer13. Robert Fischer contemplates summer and what it means to him, and how, in various ways, it has changed his life.


Character: Robert Fischer

Prompt word: Summer

**Word count: less than 2000**

* * *

Summer reminded Robert Fischer of his mother. Which had always given Robert mixed emotions.

On the one hand, summer reminded him of his mother because it had been her favourite season, and some of his best memories of her had been in the summer.

On a beach in Sydney, teaching him how to make sandcastles when he was four. Hers came out perfect every time, while his kept crumbling. Making a little fort with a moat, decorating it with shells and seaweed before pretending to be giants and trampling it.

In a park, helping him climb a tree when he was seven. Hearing her laughing while he pretended he was a monkey. Scraping his knees and elbows and having her kiss them better before buying him ice cream.

Sitting in the garden and watching her happily tending the garden when he was ten. Hiding in a bush and making her jump, and getting sprayed with the hose in playful revenge. Helping to pull up weeds and getting her a bunch of pretty ones as a present that stayed in a little pot in the kitchen.

On the other hand, it also reminded him of his mother because that had been when she had died. Eleven years old, boiling in his black suit and unable to stop the tears he knew his father was ashamed of his son and heir shedding from dripping onto the expensive jacket. Feeling like his entire world had shattered.

So, really, it was only fitting that now, once again boiling in a black suit and standing by the grave of his father, summer was once again in full swing and in the forefront of his mind.

He was aware of the speeches being given, aware of the pitying looks, the sympathetic murmurings and condolences passed his way, the pat on the shoulder from Uncle Peter that Robert supposed was meant to be reassuring but for some reason felt the opposite.

He said nothing himself, he couldn't think of anything to say, and his mouth was too dry in the heat to reply to anyone else in any other way than a nod.

In some guilty way, Robert was almost relieved. He loved his father. He had been a selfish, difficult and business driven man, but Robert knew that under all that, Maurice Fischer had loved him too. Or at the very least respected him.

And Robert's mother had loved him. If a woman as kind and caring as his mother could love Maurice, then Robert knew there must have been something about him that was worth loving, even if it was hard to find and even harder to keep hold of.

He knew that his mother's death had broken something inside his father. He had never been the same, he had never wanted to talk about her, never wanted to or tried to comfort Robert. They had visited her grave, of course, every year until Robert turned twenty-one, then Maurice stopped going and Robert went alone.

Robert looked down at the now covered and flattened grave, feeling the hot sun beating down on his back and wondering why he couldn't cry. He was a grown man, true, but he felt like he should be showing some outward form of grief, not just the inner turmoil that was going on inside his head.

As he stared at the headstone, now the only person left standing by the graveside, words echoed in his mind, as if from a dream, and with it, a scene that wasn't quite real.

_Robert stood by his father's hospital bed, watching him struggle for breath. It wasn't a memory, not quite. The word came, harsh as a stab to the heart._

_"Disapp... Disappointed..."_

_"I know Dad," Robert said hoarsely, feeling empty and tired as he knelt down by the bed. "I know you were disappointed that I couldn't be you."_

_"No," Maurice shook his head, the action stronger than the word, but both surprising Robert. "I'm disappointed... that you tried."_

_It was like a slap in the face, and a vanishing of a weight on Robert's shoulders. He stared, not quite believing what he'd heard. He tried to take his father's hand, but Maurice was gesturing to the safe by the bed._

_The code Robert typed in wasn't right, wasn't real. The safe door opened, and inside was the will that Robert knew was there, but that wasn't what he saw. What he saw was the little paper windmill, the one he made when he was nine, the one in the photo frame on the bedside cabinet that he didn't think Maurice had ever noticed. He lifted it out with a shaking hand, tears making everything blurry and wobbly, and turned to his father, wanting to apologise._

_Turned to his father, who had died before he got the chance to._

After that, the scene crumbled and faded, and Robert found that the tears he shed had been real. He tasted salt water on his lips and suddenly he was eleven again, feeling like his world had been torn apart and scattered and put back together in the wrong way.

But this time there was a way to fix it. He understood that his father had loved him, had wanted him to be his own man. Had wanted him to do what he thought was right. Had trusted him to do what was best.

Robert hadn't told anyone of his decision to break down his father's - now his - company. He hadn't been entirely sure what even possessed him to think of it on that long flight from Sydney. It was like the man he'd seen while waiting for his luggage, the one who had found his passport on the plane, almost too familiar for the brief exchange, but not quite.

But standing there, remembering the scene that wasn't real but knowing that it wasn't totally false, it felt like the right thing to do.

Uncle Peter would be the last to know, Robert decided. He wasn't sure why, but he knew that it would be the best idea to keep it from him until he couldn't change Robert's mind about it.

Robert reached out and traced the carved letters of his father's name. Then he looked to the grave next to it and smiled a little through the tears.

"Maybe you were right after all," he murmured. "Dad was a stubborn bastard, but he did try to do what was right." He placed a hand gently on the other headstone. "I miss you, Mom. But at least you're not alone."

Robert turned and started to walk away, but paused and looked back. He read both headstones with a sense of closure and comfort.

Maurice Fischer  
Devoted Husband, Father and A Good Man  
1949-2010

Susan Summer Fischer  
Beloved Wife and Mother and A Treasure to All Who Knew Her  
1954-1986

Summer took on a whole new meaning to Robert now. It signalled change, big and important changes in his life. He vowed to make both his parents proud, and to become the man that his father hadn't been.

"Look after her, Dad," Robert said quietly. "I love you both."

Final word count: 1117

Ended up a bit angsty, not sure how that happened...

Also finished it in two hours ^_^


End file.
